Bilet pherta

We are brothers back from the West,
We are acting like the ‘Shahebs’;
So, in a hopeless desperation; we have slit,
The throat of our culture and nation. 
We have forgotten our Bangla,
And have learned their language, newly.
Now, we call our servants: ‘Beyara’ and 
Our workers: ‘Coolie’.

‘Ram’, ‘Kalipad’, ‘Haricharon’
These names are now old and ruined.
So, we have re-named ourselves, shrewder:
As Dey, Roy, and Mitter.
We are flattered in the company of the Shahebs
And identify ourselves as ‘Mister.’ But instead
Of ‘Shaheb’, if anyone mistakenly calls us ‘Babu.’
In secret, we get furious and sinister.
We have forsaken the love of our ‘Tiki.’
And have stopped wearing, ‘shawl’ and ‘Dhuti’.
We have dressed ourselves in: hats, boots, pants, and suits;
And have mimicked them like a monkey.

We laugh like the British,
And cough like the French,
And, how earnestly we love smoking cigarettes.
Spreading our legs; wide-open!
We are afraid to eat with our bare hands.
Forcing our wives, the fork and knife.
Our women are to wear the socks and shoes,
The jacket over Kameez, for Didi Ma, we choose.  

The only problem in our ‘Shahebiana.’
Is our complexion, that’s not ‘White.’
Still, we don’t stop trying; use ‘Vinolea,’
Powdering our skin in layers, with might. 
We are back from the West: a few,
We destroy the Congress in a chew.
Although our Shahebs are our God,
We make them angry on a nod. 
Whereas, we walk like the Shahebs.
And give speeches in perfect English;
But in the time of crisis: steadily we run,
Like every other Bengali son.

Translated from Bangla by K.M. Arefin.

K.M. Arefin is a passionate writer, ardent poet, and sincere translator. He works as a faculty member at the Bangladesh University of Professionals and is a researcher of Postcolonial Literature and Translation Studies. Reach him at khanmohammadarefin@gmail.com.